


All The Little Pieces

by Heronfem



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-18
Updated: 2016-12-30
Packaged: 2018-07-24 17:10:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 8,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7516376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Heronfem/pseuds/Heronfem
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Collection of short Adoribull pieces, as the name implies.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In which Bull and Dorian are a public menace

There are days that Dorian likes vanilla sex. Generally speaking, those days are once every year, and saying that The Iron Bull is okay with that is a massive understatement. Dorian is kinky as _fuck_ and more than willing to push boundaries. Bull is so in love it hurts. Sometimes literally.

“What do you think?” Dorian says brightly as they stand in the specialty shop in Val Royeaux. Bull turns, and manfully resists the urge to scream at the size of the bizarrely shaped dildo Dorian's holding. It appears to be some kind of tentacle. With nubby silicone spikes. 

“Um...”

Dorian bursts out laughing, beaming at him. “Your _face_ ,” he cackles, setting it back down. “I was thinking something more like this.”

The next one he holds up is only slightly smaller, bulbous, and violently purple. 

Dorian isn't actually joking with that one, and so Bull walks out of the shop with what could only be considered a novelty dildo and several less novelty things that aren't much smaller than he is. Dorian, it must be said, is a fucking size queen. He's also got his arm through Bull's and is beaming like it's Satinalia come early, so Bull really can't complain. He pauses in the street, cupping the back of Dorian's head and bending to kiss him with just a bit more heat than is probably appropriate for being in public. Dorian's fingers claw his shirt, and when he pulls back Dorian's eyes are a little wild with want.

“Bull,” he says, entirely serious, “you should fuck me in the car.”

And that is how Dorian and Bull break the shocks on Bull's SUV for the second time.


	2. "Please don't hate me."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> crossposted from here: http://heronfem.tumblr.com/post/133741214203/happy-adoribull-prompt-sunday-please-dont-hate
> 
> Prompt by justjasper: Happy Adoribull Prompt Sunday! "Please don't hate me."

Herah sits like a statue of iron, dark skin lit from the light from the windows. She is, Bull thinks abstractly, beautiful. Val Royeaux suits her, the soft golden dress she wears and her hair in artful piles pinned with bodkins even more so. 

He waits for her to notice him, and when she turns she’s a vision, deep green eyes reminding him of the Emerald Graves, curled horns with their sharp points gleaming in the setting sun.

He thinks of the Goddess, his Goddess, no Andraste, and thinks she probably looks like Herah.

“I wondered when you’d come.” Her voice is low, throaty, and she rises with a grace that speaks of years of training. With only the one full arm now, she’s just as elegant as ever. “He’s leaving, then.”

“He is,” Bull says, soft.

Herah turns to look out the window, seeing the sails of ships beyond the docks. “We knew it had to come to this.”

“Doesn’t make it easier.”

“Indeed.”

She steps forward, long skirts rustling around her ankles, bare feet padding silently over the floor. They’re of a height, now, Herah finally having hit her last growth spurt during the past little while. But while he respects her, loves her fiercely, finds her something to believe in, he knows that the two of them would have crashed and burned. 

“Will you follow him?”

“No.” He looks down, closes his eye at the gentle touch of a hand to his face. “We’ll figure it out, but… he has to go back. Alone.”

A sigh, like wind through the trees.

“Then go,” she says, heart-breakingly kind. “Go, and eat. Drink. Be merry together.”

“For who knows how soon we shall die,” he breathes. The hand falls away. He catches it, kisses the back to make her smile and to make the ache of old pain in her eyes ease for a moment before slipping back out the door.

ooo

“Don’t hate me,” Dorian says as he steps through the door to their room. “Please, don’t hate me for this.”

Bull sighs, unbuckles his harness, lets it fall to the floor. “I’ll never hate you.” He crosses the room to where Dorian stands, golden, glowing in the evening night. His eyes burn, white hot, and Bull dips his head to kiss him. Dorian clutches his hand as he does, and Bull pours in all the aches and pains of loss into this kiss, wants Dorian to feel the love he has for him.

When he pulls away, Dorian’s eyes are wet.

“I have to go,” he says, not for the first time. “I have to. I owe it to them all to- to see change.”

Bull thinks of Solas, sharp voice ringing out, then how sorry are you? He strokes Dorian’s cheek, tender. “You don’t have to prove anything.”

“Yes,” Dorian says, his voice breaking. “Yes, I do. I have to prove that we can be better than what we are. Felix didn’t die seeing the Inquisition survive for me to swan off and live in the South all my days. There are people waiting for me now.”

Bull lowers his head, lets the sorrow wash through him like so much rain. Dorian steps in, pressing his face to Bull’s neck. They become entangled together, a mess of knotted string joined at the necklaces they both wear.

Dorian pulls him to bed some unspecified time later.

It is a slow night, the kind of night where Bull takes his time taking them both apart until they are nothing but raw, exposed souls, until Dorian is sobbing faintly into his ear and Bull can’t stop whispering broken promises in Qunlat, until morning is cresting the horizon and Dorian is pillowed on his chest and they both watch the sun rise in silence.

“I don’t want you to go,” Bull whispers at last, the gold and pink of dawn streaming into the bedroom to spill across the tangled sheets where they lay. “Koslun, Andraste, Mythal take me, I don’t want to do this without you.”

Dorian’s sob catches in his throat, and Bull covers his eye with a hand as kisses are pressed to his cheek and throat, as his own faint cries finally well up.

Finally, he can ask for what he wants, and now, and now.

And now, Dorian has to go. 

“One more day,” he says when they’re both a little more put together. “One more day, please, just for us.”

“Yes,” Dorian whispers, wiping his eyes. “Yes, one day more.”


	3. Dorian considers doing something very very bad in the name of love.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> crossposted here: http://heronfem.tumblr.com/post/132841618593/adoribull-sunday-dorian-considers-doing-something
> 
> from an anonymous prompt: adoribull sunday: Dorian considers doing something very very bad in the name of love.

It would be a terrible thing to do.

He knew this, objectively, which didn’t explain why he was standing in a Val Royeaux “alternative” jewelry shop looking at dragonbone rings. The saleswoman, who had more piercings than Dorian by a factor of three, was chewing gum and focusing intently on her phone.

Granted, he’d been standing there for the past twenty minutes agonizing over this, so it wasn’t shocking.

But he couldn’t buy Bull a ring. For one thing, none of these was anywhere near close to fitting, and one did not simply go up a size in specially made bone rings with near mythical properties. For another, Bull worked with his hands constantly, and a ring would become a problem very, very fast.

“Necklaces,” he said abruptly, making the saleswoman jump. “Dragonbone necklaces, do you have any?”

She waved a hand at a display case across the store. “A few.” For the first time she showed a bit of interest. “We have a whole tooth, if you want that.”

Dorian was already pulling out his wallet.

oOo

Marriage had always been out of the question. He’d always been very firm on that in his own mind. It was a terrible thing, to rope one person inextricably to another, leashing them. As Vivienne was so fond of saying, a leash could be pulled from both ends, but he knew himself well enough that were he leashed, he’d only struggle for a time before the depression at being caught sunk in and he caved.

It was why he’d struggled so hard against his father for so many years. He knew of Livia’s drive for power. As soon as they were married, she would surely beat him down until he was little more than a shell of his former self.

Not to mention the other, more magical ways of getting a wayward husband under control.

“You wanted to talk to me?”

Bull. Bull was beautiful, and he ached.

It was a quiet evening in, Bull resting on the bed while Dorian scrawled out yet another letter to his mother (yes, he was still alive, yes, he was still dating the qunari, WHY can’t you just use email like everyone else). Dorian set his pencil down, leaning back in his chair.

“I bought something,” he said, staring at the ceiling. “I made a terrible decision in the name of love.”

He could feel Bull’s smile from across the room.

“What did you do?”

He stood, went over to his section of the closet, and pulled out the box. Bull sat up, and Dorian walked over, shoving it into his hands.

“This.”

Bull cocked an eyebrow at him, but obediently opened the box. The smile froze on his face, and Dorian’s heart thudded hard against his chest.

“Dorian…”

“Not for marriage,” he said, blurting it out. His voice shook. “It’s- it’s not meant for a wedding ring, or anything like that. I don’t want to marry. But it’s- a promise, you see, and I was going to have it split and made into two of them but then I didn’t- I wasn’t sure if you’d- I-”

Bull set the box aside, grabbed his clenching and unclenching hands, and dragged him down for a desperate kiss.

The dragons tooth sat innocently on its black velvet, warm and golden-white as Dorian whispered his love all over again.


	4. Aftercare discussion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> crossposted here: http://heronfem.tumblr.com/post/131892254538/adoribull-sunday-prompt-dorian-being-surprised-by
> 
> Anonymous prompt: adoribull sunday prompt: dorian being surprised by bull's tenderness? :)

The first time, he fell directly on his face as he tried to leave. Bull didn’t laugh. He just smiled, reached down, and scooped him up as if he were little more than a rag doll.

“Patience,” he said fondly as water heated, and Dorian was speechless as Bull cleaned him up, smoothing a rag over every mark, every line from the rope, everywhere that could have made him feel dirty in the morning. There was no teasing, no sharp words, no old disdain rising to the surface, no taunting over how he’d been coaxed into begging.

There was, quite simply, no shame.

Dorian had no idea what to do with this.

oOo

The second time, Bull bundled him into warm blankets and made him cocoa, a fire roaring in the grate. Dorian felt completely cocooned, and kept staring blankly at the floor. His body ached from pleasant use, but his mind drifted, tugged back and forth on a sea of pointless thoughts. Soft kisses and sweet praise slowly brought him back, and he buried his head under Bull’s chin. Bull was kind enough to pull him completely onto his lap, letting him hide from the world for just a little while longer.

“Why do you do this?” he mumbled, when the cocoa was gone and he was feeling sleep starting to sink into his bones.

Bull was quiet for a time, then said, “You recall when you want to know if any of this was for me? This is that part.”

Dorian considered this, and sighed. “I don’t understand, but very well.” He closed his eyes, and listened to Bull’s content, sub-vocal rumble.

Ooo

The third time, it didn’t make sense.

He would admit to feeling poorly. Perhaps a little used. He was man enough to admit to jealousy, that wriggling green demon in his chest. Bull had been called away with Dorian recovering in his bed, some pointless errand barely out of Skyhold’s gates. He’d argued, but Dorian made him go.

He was walking past the training ring when Bull paused mid word with Grim and jogged over.

“You doing anything?”

Dorian had intended to answer flippantly, but the look on Bull’s face killed the words in his mouth.

“No,” he said, and reached out hesitantly to touch Bull’s arm. “Are you quite alright? You don’t seem well.”

Bull lowered his head, and Dorian was started by the lines of exhaustion on his face. He reached up, hesitantly cupping his cheek, and Bull leaned into it. Frowning, he stepped closer, taking Bull’s limp hand.

“Bull…”

“Sorry,” Bull mumbled, clutching his hand. “Just… just a little longer, please.”

“Usually that’s my line,” Dorian joked weakly, and got a huff of laughter. “Should I go up to your room and wait for you?”

Bull nodded, and Dorian hesitated for a moment before standing on tiptoes to kiss his forehead. Bull looked up, surprised, but Dorian whisked himself away before he could make an even bigger fool of himself.

By the time Bull made it up all the stairs, Dorian had managed to right the curio shelf in the corner, and had put a few of the stones back in the ceiling. Bull paused in the doorway as Dorian dispelled the magic, a faint smile on his face. Dorian smiled tentatively back.

“I don’t much go in for manual labor,” he said apologetically, and Bull chuckled, stepping inside and closing the door. His shoulders slumped, and Dorian followed him over to the bed. Bull flopped down, and Dorian let himself be dragged onto Bull’s chest.

“So,” he said, resting his head and tracing little patterns on Bull’s skin. “Would you care to tell me what’s going on in that head of yours?”

Bull ran his hand up and down Dorian’s back, sighing. “The things we do, the tying up and the play and all that, it… sometimes you can burn out on it.”

“I don’t understand.”

Bull hummed, sighing. “The things we do are pretty demanding for both of us, emotionally, right? You ever have a time where the thought of sex, especially the kind that we do, made you a little unhappy?”

“After the first time,” Dorian said quietly. “But I just kept coming back to him.”

“Did he take the time to help you come out of that fuzzy place you go?”

“No,” Dorian said, his voice very small. “No, he didn’t.” He remembered that first time coming out of his own head to the shock of being kicked out, and had spent a good three hours when he reached his own little apartment shivering in bed, wrapped in blankets. The sex had been fantastic, but the cost had been high. Not high enough to keep him from going back, though.

“That’s why I always take the time,” Bull said, tightening his arm around him as Dorian curled up in on himself. “That’s why I always make sure to care for you after, so you don’t have to come down on your own, when it’s painful. It’s just a big a part of the sex as ropes are. And it’s my time to see what I’ve done, reassure myself I didn’t hurt you.”

“I wouldn’t mind if you did,” Dorian said as Bull dragged the blankets over them. “You make it worth it.”

“Fuck, don’t say that,” Bull breathed, shuddering beneath him. “I’ll do whatever you want to you, but I draw the line at actually hurting you, the kind you don’t want.”

“… I don’t understand what you mean.”

“If you asked me to flog you, I would. If you asked me to smack you around, I would. But if you didn’t, and I did hit you, there’s where we have a problem.” Bull held him tighter, and Dorian nuzzled into his chest. “You’ve- well. You’ve seen how I get in a rage. I don’t ever want to accidentally hurt you. That’s my time to recover from what I’ve done as well.”

Dorian blinked, understanding hitting him. “Is that why I’ve been feeling so off? Because we didn’t have time to relax, earlier?”

“Exactly. See why I didn’t want to go?” Bull said, and Dorian turned, kissing his chest.

“I understand now. And, well, we’re here now. And I’m not going anywhere.”

He sat up, and leaned down to kiss Bull sweetly. Bull kissed back, sighing contentedly against his lips. Dorian’s heart swelled with fondness for this oversized, tender lump of a man, and let himself be pulled back down to cuddle.


	5. In which Dorian is a bad patient

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> crossposted from: http://heronfem.tumblr.com/post/144689858318/fluffy-soft-prompt-iron-bull-taking-care-of

Dorian was not exactly the best patient in the history of Skyhold. He was, in fact, one of the worst. In the space of four hours, despite having a vicious fever and allergies so bad he was practically hacking out his lungs, he had been firmly kicked out of the infirmary and into the loving care of The Iron Bull.

The main reason was because he was positively crackling with electricity.

It came in fits and spurts, and the healers assured Bull that it was just Dorian’s way of burning out the fever (at least it wasn’t actual FIRE), but he’d just have to get used to the occasional shocks when he touched him. 

Dorian whined quietly when he was tucked into bed, and Bull gingerly laid a wet cloth on his forehead. It immediately began steaming, but some of the tension in his face eased. Bull took his hand, and Dorian let out a long, slow sigh. His fingers twitched in an attempt to tighten, failing from how weak he was, but Bull smiled all the same.

“I’m here,” he murmured, bending to kiss the back of Dorian’s hand. “It’ll be okay.”

The fever turned inward after some time, and Bull woke from a doze to the sound of Dorian muttering in his half-sleep.

“Won’t,” he growled, “can’t-no you can’t-” He thrashed in his sleep, the lightning storm on his skin starting up again. Bull gingerly switched out the cloth on his forehead and Dorian calmed a little, the lightning sinking back into his skin.

“Hush, _kadan_ ,” Bull murmured, stroking his hair, and Dorian relaxed once again.

The fever broke after not much longer, and Dorian dropped into true sleep. Bull wasn’t far behind him, and when he woke in the morning it was to Dorian looking at him with bleary eyes.

“Hey there,” he said, his voice rough with sleep.

“i can’t get up,” Dorian said, obviously miserable, and Bull hauled himself upright. A bath and some food was in order, and once he’d managed the bath he headed down to the kitchen for a tray. 

The food was far from heavy, merely some bread and broth with water flavored with a solitary squeeze of lemon for a bit of taste. The cook had heard about Dorian being sick, and in a rare show of kindness had offered one of her more precious reserves.

Dorian had managed to get out of the tub and into his robe by the time Bull got back, and Bull helped him into the chair so he could eat while Bull changed out the sheets and flung the shutters open. By the time that was done, Dorian had managed to finish the soup and looked far beyond exhausted. Bull smiled, walking over and gently cupping his cheek.

“Ready to get back to bed?”

“Yes, please,” Dorian said miserably, leaning into his hand. “I loathe being sick more than anything, yet here I am.”

“Here you are,” Bull agreed, lifting him up and helping him into bed. He climbed in soon after, and Dorian flopped into the usual space at his side, head pillowed on Bull’s shoulder.

“Wake me up when the room stops spinning so much,” Dorian mumbled, and Bull smiled softly as together they drifted back off to sleep.


	6. Well of Sorrows pt. 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> crossposted from: http://heronfem.tumblr.com/post/135770770878/adoribull-sunday-prompt-adoribull-the
> 
> Prompt by theladylily: Adoribull Sunday Prompt – Adoribull – The inquisitor forces Dorian to drink from the Well of Sorrows, since they didn’t want to drink it themselves and even less for Morrigan to do so.

“You’ve made a mistake,” Dorian says from where he’s being kept, very neatly pinned in place on the floor of Solas’ room. He’s been prattling on and on about sporadic things, rambling mostly. 

“You’ve said that already. At least five times. Try to be more original,” Solas mutters from where he’s working on his writings.

“Very well. You’re a pompous, arrogant ass, and I hope that the foolish errors you’ve made will come back and devour you whole, crewing your bones before blasting them to ash, and that the memory of your name disappears until not even the most obscure texts will know you upon your death.”

“Ah,” Solas says, distracted. “So, you intend for me to be you.”

Dorian gives him a wordless snarl, and with a wave Solas pins him harder.

“Do shut up,” he says wearily. “You are an aggravating creature at the best of times, and my nerves are wearing thin with annoyance.”

Dorian goes blissfully silent, no doubt remember the punishment from the last time he pushed Solas too far. Sensory deprivation is an excellent way to keep Dorian quiet and obedient, he has learned. He doesn’t use it often- the threat wears off if it’s a constant, after all.

He works in glorious, commentary free silence for nearly an hour before Dorian says, in a cracked, tired voice, “Please, let me see him?”

By rights, Solas should certainly deny him. He’s been an aggravating brat all day, whining about this, that, and the other. He has to keep him on a tight leash to keep him from lashing out. Dorian, for all his boasting and show boating, is alarmingly strong, and puts up quite the fight when he wants to.

“Will you behave if I do?”

“Yes.”

No back talk. He sets down the fountain pen, and turns. Dorian’s face is pressed to the wood, his hair shorn short for ease of keeping it trimmed while he’s under Solas’ command. He let him keep the mustache. It would go if there was any real fight put up. Erasure of self was one of Dorian’s deepest fears, and that hideous caterpillar on his lip was one of his most identifiable marks. He dresses plainly now, as is befitting of Solas’ servant. 

Solas watches as he seems to curl in on himself, the fight fully leaving him.

“Only for a short while,” he says with great reluctance. With a wave, the magic holding Dorian down eases, and he carefully sits up. 

The hand mirror is an ugly, gaudy thing of Orlesian make. Solas taps the glass, and the Iron Bull comes into view, making camp with the Chargers somewhere near Redcliffe. He passes the mirror to Dorian, who holds it tenderly, eyes fixed on him.

Solas goes back to work, ignoring the little hiccuping noise that Dorian makes a few minutes later, and the faint scent of salt.

He’s almost finished with his work for the evening when one of his agents steps inside, flustered and out of breath. 

“Yes?” he says mildly, not so much as twitching in his annoyance.

“A message for you.”

He takes the envelope without so much as a glance, slitting it open.

Inside is a sheet of paper, with words printed in a smooth, elegant hand.

You might want to watch out for the husband, the Inquisitor has written, the smug arrogance radiating out of every line. I hear he misses his bed warmer desperately.

Solas snarls, incinerating the paper. As if he needed to be told that.

He turns, seeing Dorian still fixated on the mirror. “The Inquisitor is so kind to send me mail,” he says shortly, and the messenger jolts. “There is no reply.”

He rises, and Dorian clings to the mirror, not daring to look up.

“Enough,” he says shortly, and Dorian clutches it closer, transfixed. Solas reaches down, seeing Bull tip his head to the sky, and taps the glass. It goes blank quickly. 

Dorian silently hands it back, not looking up.

Solas takes it and sits back to finish his work, putting the finishing touches on his writing for the evening.

“He’ll come for me, you know.”

Solas pauses, turning. Dorian’s head is still down, quietly bowed.

“Excuse me?”

Dorian lifts his head, and his eyes are full of fire. “You might control me, but you can’t take my heart. He already has it, and he’ll hunt you to the ends of Thedas and back to find me.”

“Spare me the dramatic words,” Solas snaps. “If I so desire, I could make you kill him.”

“Oh, so proud you are of your stolen power,” Dorian smiles, sharp as knives. “But do remember, oh Dread Wolf, the moral of your old friend. Pride goes before the fall.”

Solas’ mouth twists in fury, and he slams the power down on him.

“Don’t you condescend to me,” he hisses. “I’m saving the world!”

“You’re a genocidal maniac,” Dorian spits out. “ You’re no better than a dog, clinging to the scraps of a world that will never exist again!”

Solas roars, grabbing him by the collar and dragging him up. “I am a god.”

“You,” Dorian snarls, “are corruption. And one day I will see you burn.”

Solas screams, incoherent, and drops him. The messenger cowers in the corner, beyond terrified, and Solas ignores him to snatch up the mirror. The Iron Bull swims into view again, and he throws the mirror before Dorian, who’s shakily trying to rise. He pins him down hard, forcing him to look at the mirror.

“If he has your heart, it’s only fair that I bring you his,” he snarls. “You can watch while I rip it from his chest.”

“No!” Dorian screams as Solas pulls on the cloak of Fen’Harel, the messenger’s hands over his mouth, shaking. “No! Please, no, anything but this!”

Solas crouches down, glaring. “Then stay silent,” he roars, and Dorian shakes, furious tears at the corner of his eyes. Solas rises again. 

“Tell my children near the Iron Bull to prepare to attack the camp,” he snaps at the messenger. “I intend to pay a visit.”

“Yes, my lord,” the messenger whispers, and flees.

Solas turns to sneer at him, the rage boiling hot in his chest. “I won’t kill them, but you can watch while they bleed,” he snarls, and leaves Dorian behind as he sweeps out of the room, only the mirror and the darkness for company.

His favorite of the fighters waits by the door, patient as the grave, his dark eyes glittering. 

“Come, brother,” Solas says darkly. The eluvian at the end of the hall gleams, open and inviting. “We have work yet to do.”


	7. Well of Sorrows pt. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> crossposted from: http://heronfem.tumblr.com/post/144336619223/omg-for-the-next-adoribull-sunday-the-conclusion

Dorian is a vision in the moonlight.

He looks different- too plainly dressed, hair cut short, but the mustache is still there, and silver eyes gleam with just as much fire as when they first met. The Iron Bull aches, hands twitching with the need to hold him.

The moonlight filters down through the trees of the Graves, dappling his skin with patterns. He is not a man meant for moonlight- he is gold and bronze in the sun, burning with an unmatched fire. The moonlight mutes him, turns him ashen. The wind wraps around them both, tugging at his clothes and making the plain coat Dorian now wears flutter in the breeze. He is beautiful even in humble rags, and wears them like a king.

“I don’t have much time,” Dorian says, his voice hitching and hesitant. “He’s gone for the week, I slipped away from the guards.”

“ _Kadan_ ,” The Iron Bull breathes, drawing his axe. “It’s all right. I know.” He raises his voice. “Come out, you bald bastard!”

Dorian sobs, lifting a shaky hand. “Don’t let me do this,” he pleads, and the words are wrenched away from him. Solas steps from the shadows behind him, gleaming in the darkness. Dorian trembles, rage and fear warring on his face as Solas smiles at Bull.

“And here I thought you would be happy to spend some time together,” he mocks, absently reaching over and flicking a tear away from Dorian’s face. “But no, you reject such a kind gift.”

“Making my husband kill me doesn’t seem particularly kind,” Bull snarls, tightening his grip on his ax.

Dorian’s hands become wreathed in fire, and Solas chuckles. 

“It is hardly my fault that the Inquisitor was cruel. We must work with the tools provided to us, and Dorian, well.” He shrugs, almost eloquent. “The right tool for the right job. I admit, I’m looking forward to watching you try and face him down.”

“Forgive me, amatus,” Dorian breathes, the rage and pain twisting his face to a a rictus of agony. 

Bull moves, and flames hit where he had been. The Chargers are in the woods, picking off the scouts Solas sent ahead, and he begins the familiar dance of violence. He’s fighting Solas, really, follow patterns he learned while watching him. Dorian is little more than a conduit, 

Krem materializes at his side, his handsome face covered in scars from where Solas’ latest attack hit him. He goes for Solas with the maul, Dalish and Skinner dropping from above, and Dorian’s hands falter as Solas is forced to attack. It’s just long enough for Dorian to turn, just long enough for Bull to leap, just long enough for the world to become fire and death.

Solas crumples.

And Dorian faints.

ooo

The world doesn’t end. Amazingly enough. The rest of Thedas continues as if nothing had happened, aside from the Dread Wolf’s sudden disappearance. Dorian and Bull take off to Nevarra and leave Solas in the capable hands of a new set of up and coming world changers, and don’t even care.

They have lives to catch up on, a home to build, and all the time they need to live happily ever after.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm hoping to come back and do a bit of a rewrite on this one one day.


	8. Cocoa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> crossposted from: http://heronfem.tumblr.com/post/131469924578/if-youre-still-doing-adoribull-prompt-sunday
> 
> Prompted by Anonymous: If you're still doing Adoribull prompt Sunday, Dorian and Bull sharing hot cocoa? Maybe Dorian surprising Bull with it? Please.

It’s the smell of ice that gets to him, these days.

There is no ice in Par Vollen or Seheron. The first time he saw snow, he’d rolled in it for hours, made snowballs, danced like a crazed man through the world. He likes ice, and snow, and everything that isn’t the wet, sticking heat of the north.

But that smell. It’s a strange thing, a not-thing, a funny mix of here-not-there, and it burns slightly on the inhale. He matches it with the strange squeakiness of snow, and the faint tinkle of broken things.

The smell puts him in mind of Emprise du Lion, and Ismael.

He sits on the battlements on a rickety old chair, looking out at the snowy world around them. There’s something calming about Skyhold. He feels safer here than he ever has, wrapped up in a cocoon of warmth and quiet.

The sound of feet on the steps make him lift his chin from where it had been resting on his palm as he watched the world below. Dorian comes up the stairs, carefully carrying a tray with cheeses and meats, a fabric wrapped block of something, and a large, steaming kettle with two mugs.

“It took me a while to find you,” Dorian says mildly, and places the tray in the crenelation. “ _Socius_ Aclassi told me where you were, after a time. I bribed him with a candied date.”

“Not right of my boys, taking bribes,” Bull murmurs, and Dorian lets himself be pulled onto Bull’s lap. Bull presses a soft kiss to his neck as Dorian fusses with the food. “ _Socius_ , huh?”

“He said I wasn’t allowed to call him Lieutenant, and I haven’t been given leave to use his given name,” Dorian says crisply, arranging the mugs and pouring the water. “ _Soporatus_ would be rude. _Idividus_ less so, but improper for our relationship. _Amicus_ , hah. Perhaps some day I could claim that, but not now. So he is _socius_ , an ally.”

The fabric wrapping is gently pulled away, and cocoa sits there, the scent coming up to slide warmth and sweetness into the air. Bull feels his chest tighten, wraps an arm around Dorian.

“It’s not proper cocoa,” Dorian says, not looking at him. “It’s like they make in Orlais, with the sugar already added in, and the not-cream that they add to it.” He carefully takes a bit off, and dumps first one scoop, then another into the first mug. “I tried to get milk, but this is already so rich I could hardly stand it.”

“Thank you,” Bull murmurs, kissing his neck again. Dorian’s smile is quick and bright, like a hare jumping through sunlight. The cocoa is mixed, and Bull waits until Dorian has finished his own before taking a mug. 

They drink together, with the light of day making the snowy mountains almost purple, and Bull isn’t surprised when Dorian turns, kissing him slow, the sweetness of the cocoa lingering on his lips.


	9. Red

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> crossposted from: http://heronfem.tumblr.com/post/131444617768/adoribull-sunday-prompt-adoribull-modern-au
> 
> Prompted by theladylily: Adoribull Sunday Prompt – Adoribull – Modern AU – Vint’s wear red as widows – Bull thought how the shade of red made man look ravishing, and told him so when he took the seat next to him at the bar. It wasn’t until krem explain to him, why the pretty man set his pants on fire did he feel like a dick.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which I got to write the one fanon headcanon I created and was very smug about it.

In hindsight, he should have realized something was wrong when the man came in. No one in a suit that nice walked into a bar this shitty without the intent to seriously drown their sorrows.

He was a beautiful man, though. He’d been dressed in traditional Tevene attire, a long overcoat with long sleeves and a tall collar that reached the floor, slits up to his hips to reveal well fitted pants beneath, sharp red shoes, and his makeup done in heavy red as well. Long fingered hands were bedecked with rings, his ears were pierced, and a septum piercing had a thin chain connecting it to his left ear. 

He sat at the bar, he ordered whiskey, and he kept the bottle.

Bull, also at the bar, with Krem in the bathroom, had waited until the man was three shots in before saying, “Hey.”

The man glanced at him, the picture of discontent. “What?”

Bull nodded at him, smiling a little. “The red. It’s a good color on you.”

The man went very still, fingers tightening on the shot glass. “I’m sorry, would you repeat that?”

“The red suits you,” Bull said, and then his pants were on fire.

ooo

“Traditionally,” Krem said as he sat on Bull’s stoop while Bull tended his rose bushes, a bandage on his leg, “you’re only supposed to wear it for close family and friends. For the first six months, just red. After that, red with other colors, usually black. After a year, a red arm band. And beyond that, it depends.”

“You’re saying he probably lost a family member?”

Krem snorted. “All the red he was wearing? Probably lost a wife.”

“Shit,” Bull breathed, running a hand down his face. He now owned a pair of shorts, courtesy of Messare Red. Krem ignored his inner turmoil, playing with an unlit cigarette and clearly trying to talk himself out of lighting it.

Bull came and joined him on the steps, staring out into the street. The suburbs were quiet and calm at night, and he let his head hang.

“So,” Krem said, carefully putting the cigarette back into a full pack, “what are you going to do?”

ooo

His name was Dorian Pavus, and he worked in an ugly little law office that seemed to have been cobbled together at the last minute by the kind of person who thought that squares were a valid aesthetic choice for a building.

He sent thirty two red roses to his office. He selected each one individually, making certain they were perfect, and wrote a simple, “My apologies” on the card. They were delivered during the lunch hour, left in his office, and Bull slipped away from the street when he saw Dorian walking back from lunch in a little cafe. He was still in red, this time a Southern styled suit.

ooo

He got the call at exactly 2 PM two weeks later, and knew who it would be even before he answered.

“Took you long enough,” he said, and on the other end Leliana sighed.

“I had hoped you weren’t involved in this,” she said, her soft voice made tinny by the telephone. “But a Qunari with horns such as yours is rare and far between.”

“You don’t have to tell me that,” he said, leaning against the wall of the building he stood against. Krem was napping in the car while they waited for their contact to arrive, Skinner and Dalish cuddled up together in the back seat. “So. Was he married?”

“No.” Leliana’s voice was heavy. “A very close friend. He was quite emotional about the roses.” 

Bull smiled, looking down. “Yeah, I hoped he’d like them.”

“I told him how to find you. He deserved to know.”

“Yeah,” Bull said, pushing off the wall as he saw a car approach. “Yeah, he definitely does. Take care, Lady Nightingale.”

ooo

He returned home to find Dorian Pavus sitting on his steps, dark eyes fixing on him and raking over him like hot coals.

Bull stepped through the gate, and Dorian rose He was in a long red coat today, tall collar, red pants and tall boots peeking out.

“So,” Bull said softly.

“So,” Dorian said quietly. 

They stood together in silence for a time, each looking over the other.

“You sent me roses,” Dorian said at last. “Thirty two roses in my office. I counted each one, to be sure.”

Bull shrugged, feeling like the air was charging with lightning, leaving him breathless. “A Qunari tradition, the number for tragedies and mourning.”

“I am aware of it.”

Dorian took a step down, Bull look a step forward. They were within touching distance, and he was beautiful, as brilliant red as flames in the night.

“His name was Felix,” Dorian said, abrupt. “And he was the best man I’ve ever met.”

Bull nodded, somber. “Will you tell me about him?”

Inhale, exhale, and- “Yes.”

And Bull opened the door, and Dorian stepped inside.


	10. Wingpeople are the worst

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crossposted from: http://heronfem.tumblr.com/post/131436539948/adoribull-sunday-sera-and-krem-just-being-the
> 
> Prompted by Anonymous:adoribull sunday: sera and krem just being the worst wingmen

“You should hit that.”

Bull was mid drink, and only barely managed to swallow without choking. Turning, he looked down at a very tiny, blonde elf with a…unique haircut, who was grinning maniacally at him.

“Sorry, what?”

She pointed to the mustached hipster of a ‘Vint that was very definitely being harassed by Krem, and said, “Him. You. Doing that thing.”

“Sex?”

“Yes, you tit. You know any women like you who’d like women like me? Big, I mean. Horns optional.”

He paused, nodding over towards where Shokrakar was arm wrestling Blackwall. “Her name’s Shokrakar. Go crazy.”

The elf punched him in the arm, beaming. “He doesn’t have a gag reflex,” she said cheerfully, and darted away. Bull took a fortifying drink and made his way over to where Krem was gesticulating wildly at the hipster ‘Vint.

“-Really, really good is what I’m saying,” Krem said, and the hipster went a very pretty shade of red.

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” the hipster snapped, and Krem laughed. Clapping the man on the shoulder, he stepped towards Bull.

“I’m going to go make Cullen turn interesting colors,” he said brightly, and headed away. The ‘Vint looked up at him and turned a very interesting shade of scarlet.

“Mind if I join you?” Bull drawled, and didn’t miss the little flick of tongue as the ‘Vint licked his lips. 

“Go ahead,” the ‘Vint said, and Bull dropped into a chair.

“The Iron Bull,” he said, holding out a hand.

“Dorian Pavus,” Dorian said, and smiled a little. “Your friend is… interesting.”

“I could say the same about yours,” Bull grinned. “Mind if I buy you a drink?”

Dorian sat back, gave him a slow once over, and smiled. “Go right ahead.”


	11. The D's for Apartment 5-B

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crossposted from: http://heronfem.tumblr.com/post/130488013878/adoribull-sunday-prompt-modernau-were
> 
> Prompted by vivelyf:Adoribull Sunday Prompt: Modern!au, "We're neighbors and I didn't notice this package outside my door was actually yours until I opened it and saw that it was full of sex toys"

The person in Apartment 5-B never got mail. It was this whole thing. Bull was pretty sure that they were on the run from something particularly nasty, since the car that parked in 5-B’s slot had extremely good bulletproof windows, reinforced doors, and nitrous installed. This was the car of someone ready to run, and ready to run fast.

But whoever lived next door was quiet, kept their things clean, and religiously took out the trash. There were no loud parties, no thumping against the wall at odd hours, and there was only the faintest music. Human ears wouldn’t have even been able to hear it, but Bull had incredible hearing. The person next door apparently liked classical strings and woodwinds, pop punk, and on rare days extremely filthy rap.

Whoever they were, Bull rather liked them.

The mail always came at precisely 10 o'clock, thumping with regularity against his door. The postwoman didn’t much care for delicacy. By 10:15 he was cleaned up from breakfast, and pulled open the door.

There was the usual collection of bills, junk mail, and coupons from local grocery stores. He rifled through them, and paused when he saw a box sitting between his door and 5-B’s. 

And because 5-B never got mail, and he was expecting a bundle of books, he picked it up without thinking and brought it inside.

oOo

Dicks.

Well, dildos, specifically, but still dicks. 

Bull stared into the box, more than a little impressed. He definitely hadn’t ordered these (that was a box coming in about two weeks) but whoever had was one hell of a size queen. Thankfully they were all boxed, and he picked up an extremely violently purple one. He considered it for a moment, glanced down, looked back at the dildo, and went to get a ruler.

Fifteen minutes later, and he was online trying to find where the hell these had been purchased.

Twenty minutes later, he was no closer.

oOo

When he rapped on the door to 5-B, it opened very slowly, the chain across it. An eye, silvery, with eyeliner on, glared warily out at him. There was a hint of a curled mustache as well.

“Yes?”

Oh boy. Vint.

“Um.” Bull sheepishly held up the box. “I thought this was mine and opened it.”

The Vint stared at him, nonplussed.

“Also, where the hell did you buy these? Because I got paid like, two days ago and I’d really like to make some additions to my collection.”

What he could see of the Vint’s face darkened slightly, and the door slammed shut. He waited patiently, and the door opened all the way to reveal the still flushed, exceptionally good looking man behind it.

“Hello,” he said mildly. “The Iron Bull, by the way. I’m your neighbor.”

That seemed to throw the ‘Vint off, just like it always did, and he said with clear reluctance, “Dorian Pavus. Um. You’re quite tall.”

“I get that a lot. Seriously though, where did you get these?”

Dorian jolted like he’d been stung, and he stuck his head out to check if there were any other people around. “Not so loud,” he hissed, and grabbed Bull’s hand to drag him inside, slamming the door behind him. Bull carefully sidled down the short hall into the living room. It was a comfortable little place, covered in books and paperwork.

Dorian stalked into the room, paced back and forth, and spun on his heel to glare at him.

“Tea,” he said with great reluctance. “Would you like some tea?”

Ahhh, upper class Vint.

“I’ll spare you the indignity,” Bull said with a grin, and Dorian made a little noise of frustration. He set the box on the table, and Dorian fidgeted awkwardly. “So, tell.”

Dorian sighed, and grabbed some paper and a pen, scrawling out the website. “I cannot believe this is happening,” he muttered.

Bull took the paper from him, and held up his hands. “Just curious. I’ll get out of your hair. But if you ever want someone to test those with…”

Dorian gaped at him, spluttered briefly, and pointed stiffly at the door. Bull chuckled, and made his way out.

oOo

There was an extremely tentative knock on his door three days later, and Bull opened it to reveal a very red Dorian in exceptionally stylish clothes.

“Coffee,” he said abruptly, fiddling with a necklace. “Would you. That is. Would you like to go out for coffee.”

Bull leaned against the door, grinning at him. “Name your time, handsome.”

oOo

“This really wasn’t what I meant by coffee,” Dorian gasped as Bull tightened down the ropes.

“We had coffee,” Bull said indignantly. “We’ve had coffee, and eclairs, and those little tiny button things-”

“Macaroons, Bull, we talked about this-”

“Button things, macaroons, whatever.”

Dorian grinned at the ceiling, testing his bonds. “If this is what asking you for coffee gets me, I can’t wait to see what dinner gets.”

Bull chuckled, kissing him warmly, and Dorian arched up into him.

Life, he thought happily, was good.


	12. Muzzle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> crossposted from: http://heronfem.tumblr.com/post/130013746548/adoribull-sunday-prompt-visiting-noble-doesnt
> 
> prompted by teamongrel: Adoribull Sunday Prompt - Visiting noble doesn't really know how Skyhold works and thinks they'll do the Inquisitor a favor by chaining the 'Evil Tevinter Magister'. Maybe presents him before everyone in the throne room and doesn't get why they're all flipping out. Especially love if Inquisitor lets Bull handle it. :D

They caught him outside of Skyhold, while he was gathering supplies for Adaar’s latest concoction. He wasn’t wearing the Inquisition’s symbol, so he supposed it made sense that they would think he was Venatori, but they didn’t even listen to his explanation before shoving magebane down his throat.

The noble was a handsome man, a Free Marcher built like an ox with sharp, dark eyes and a stern mouth. He adjusted his gloves as Dorian struggled in his retainers grip, looking down with disinterest.

“Get out the chains for the mages,” he intoned. “And muzzle him- I don’t want him to be able to cast if the magebane wears off. Magisters.” He practically spit the word, and Dorian let out a soft cry of pain as his arms were wrenched behind him and bound.

The cuffs and chains were heavy, and Dorian stumbled behind the noble as he was more or less dragged across the Skyhold’s bridge towards the main hall. A heavy leather muzzle had been slapped on him as well, and he kept his eyes down as his face burned with shame. Breathing was difficult, and as the Marcher dismounted he could hear the whispers and muttering of those in the courtyard. He was not well liked, and knew it, but that no one would come to his defense stung deeply.

The Marcher snapped his fingers, and Dorian jerked his head as a rope looped around his neck to pull him forward. Up the stairs they went, into the Great Hall while the murmuring grew louder. Adaar was on the throne, and shot to his feet as the Marcher strode forward with the cacophony of sound behind him. The Orlesians, most of whom knew him, where in an uproar as he was dragged before Adaar and shoved to his knees.

“What,” Adaar said, his voice cold as ice, “is the meaning of this?”

The Marcher tugged his gloves off, finger by finger. “We caught him outside of Skyhold, Inquisitor. I should think you would want to know that you have some Vint Magister snooping about your seat.”

“He is not a Magister,” Adaar snarled, and Dorian flinched as he saw Bull step out of the Undercroft, No, please don’t let him see me like this!

“Boss,” Bull rumbled, his eye flicking between Dorian and the Marcher, who looked slightly uneasy.

“Our new friend here mistook Dorian for a magister,” Adaar said sharply. “Perhaps you could educate him on what Dorian’s purpose is within the Inquisition while I get him out of those chains?”

Bull cracked his knuckles, and the Marcher went pale. “Sounds like a plan, Boss.”

Bull grabbed the Marcher’s arm none too gently and led him into Josephine’s office as Adaar hurried down the steps to kneel before him. He was gentle as he took off the muzzle, rubbing Dorian’s jaw for a moment to soothe the now stiff muscles there, and Dorian let his head fall onto Adaar’s shoulder.

“It’s okay, we’ve got you,” he whispered, and Dorian bit back a sob of relief as the chains were removed and the rope slipped off.

Vivienne emerged with pure rage in her eyes as she stalked over to them, and dropped to her knees beside him. “Magebane?” she said bluntly, and he nodded. She inhaled sharply, nostrils flaring, and gripped his hand tightly in sympathy.

“Do you want to go to your room or Bull’s?” Adaar asked softly as he helped Dorian up, wrapping an arm tight around his shoulders.

“Bull’s, please,” Dorian whispered, and they slowly made their way to Bull’s room.

ooo

Dorian was safely curled under Bull’s blankets when the door opened, and he closed his eyes as Bull said, “The Marcher’s been kicked out. Josephine said she’d happily cause an international incident if it meant keeping you safe from the bastard.”

Dorian made a noncommittal noise, his head still pounding from the magebane, and he squeezed them tighter shut as Bull’s weight made the bed dip. The soothing stroke of his hand over his hair made his shoulders relax.

When he opened his eyes, Bull looked somber.

“I brought the muzzle,” he said quietly. “I thought you might want to burn it.”

He set it on the bed, and Dorian shuddered at the sight of it. “You thought correctly.”

Bull leaned down to kiss his temple, and Dorian shuddered again as he closed his eyes.

“I’m sorry you had to see me like that,” he whispered. “What you must have thought of me.”

“I was more thinking how easily I could snap his neck for daring to lay a finger on you,” Bull said, his voice dark, and Dorian sighed as Bull toed off his boots and climbed properly into bed. There was some shuffling until Dorian was comfortably installed in Bull’s arms. He curled up against him.

“How long until your magic comes back?”

Dorian felt the tremors rise again. “I don’t know,” he whispered. “I was so panicked, I don’t remember how much they gave me. Likely a full day, at the least. I’m not leaving your room for love nor money.”

Bull was wise enough not to point out the more mundane things he would have to leave for, and Dorian was grateful for that. There were kisses pressed to his hair, soft and sweet, and slowly he let himself slump into restless sleep.

Things were not perfect, and tomorrow would be difficult, but for now, he was safe and knew he was loved.


End file.
